"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Devin once again found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror. He'd been doing that a lot recently. Perhaps it was because he was obsessing over every little bodily change the hormones brought him. Perhaps it was because he was inspecting himself to see if he really looked like a girl. Perhaps it was because he simply liked looking at himself. Devin silently laughed at that last thought, as if.

Or perhaps it was because it was an easy way to force himself to do some mental introspection.

Devin focused intently on the figure in the mirror. If he wanted to be as objective as possible, that figure didn’t really look like a man, which brought a smile to his lips before he immediately shook it off. He didn’t want his desires to be female to blind his judgment. He would need to go out in public to get a true sense of what he looked like, an action that still made him deeply uneasy.

Looking deep into the blue eyes of his reflection, his mind kept repeating that same question, “what the hell do you think you’re doing”, or some variation of it, over and over again.

What the hell did he think he was doing, indeed.

He didn’t know where the suggestion that he could talk to Elise’s grandparents came from, but apparently it was strong enough that he had actually asked Elise if he could do it. What was he getting himself into? He barely knew her grandparents at all, aside from the two visits to their house over the past year. They seemed like nice people, but he wasn’t at all surprised that they had apparently bought into some pretty heinous beliefs. That was the case with most bigots after all, nice on the outside, but rotten to the core on the inside, even if they themselves didn’t believe it.

But what could he possibly say that would convince them their beliefs were wrong? He wasn’t a master class debater. Sure, Elise had told him before that he was pretty good at convincing people of his viewpoints, but she was his girlfriend. She probably felt some kind of obligation to say things like that, just to be nice.

He had managed to fall a few times into political arguments with people at his school, and he seemed to be good at holding his ground, but was only able to convince his opposition of some of his viewpoints a few select times.

Though, to be fair, considering how the average person has probably never convinced anyone of their viewpoints, that may actually be a pretty big accomplishment. It’d definitely look like that to a lot of other people.

Devin breathed deeply as he looked further into his reflection. “Don’t get overconfident” he thought. That was the one thing that he knew for sure would backfire. He had to have reasonable expectations of himself and the conversation. He definitely wouldn’t persuade Elise’s grandparents to abandon all of their beliefs, but he could possibly make them think about them a little more. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was worth a shot. Elise trusted him, at the very least.

Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Maybe some good could come out of it.

After all, it was about time he started thinking a little more positively.

***

Devin sat down on his back porch as he gazed out at the nearly pitch black sky. There was no moon to speak of, none that he could see at least, and the stars were all very dim. It was most likely a result of the porch light being switched on.

It felt wrong for him to be out this late. Usually his parents would immediately yell at him to come inside, but with them gone there was no one to stop him but himself.

He probably should go inside though. He had another shift at Sheetz the next day, which meant another day of providing service to some really annoying people.

He groaned as he laid back in his chair, his mind already filling with the unpleasant experiences of working in retail. He didn’t like doing it, but it at least paid the bills for his medication. If he didn’t have it then he’d just be rotting away further in a body that would only grow more foreign to him with each passing day.

Continuing to look into the deep, vast, dark sky, his thoughts were brought back to the deep, vast, dark space within his own mind. There was a lot he was uncertain about in there. Hell, with everything that had happened in the past few days, there was a lot that to be uncertain about. For instance, whether or not it was worth thinking long and hard about free online stories posted on the internet by anonymous authors. Or trying to apply a feminist lens to them. But in spite of all that, there was one thing Devin was certain of, and that was that Sierra was growing stronger.

With each one of Elise’s visits, Devin felt the temptation to fully give into Sierra grow more and more. And especially during the visit that day, when Elise had openly told him that she liked “Sierra” more and wished “she” was around more often. He could have given into Sierra right then and there. He definitely wanted to, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. It seemed he was his own worst enemy. He was the one blocking himself from embracing Sierra. Embracing the girl that he very clearly wanted to be. And the one he wanted people to see him as.

Every time he felt like giving into Sierra, all the self doubt and self hatred came rushing back to him like a freight train. Those feelings within him that said he was gross, a disgusting pervert, and even an abomination were ever so loud. And they only got reinforced every time he read a transphobic thread or watched a transphobic video on the internet. He didn’t know why he did that, he knew he’d come out upset and feeling like shit. But some part of him kept forcing him to come back. As if he thought he deserved to be eternally miserable. He wanted it all to be over.

In fact, he could just kill himself now and he’d be done dealing with all of that.

In Devin’s right hand was a pocket knife. With a slow, drawn out motion, he opened it and approached his left arm. He usually did this in his room or in front of a mirror, and he wasn’t even sure why he brought the pocket knife outside with him, but he guessed that somewhere in his mind, he wanted to try something different.

Devin would never consider himself a cutter, or someone who self harmed. From his perspective he never really hurt himself, he just gave his arm, or waist, or whatever less vulnerable part of his body he chose that day a few scratches. He never cut deep enough to draw blood. He sometimes wished he could though.

And this time it was his intent.

Slowly the knife drew closer and closer to his arm. It was a bit of a sudden decision, but at this point he didn’t care. He was tired of all the hate and conflict and he wanted it to end.

The temptation to end it all was ever so powerful at this point. Almost as strong as the temptation to give into Sierra. With just a quick, hard flick of his pocketknife through his vein, he could be comforted knowing he’d be dead in a hour or so.

He inched the knife closer and closer, to the point where it almost touched his vein.

Then he turned his arm around and scratched at nothing but skin.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He never expected that he’d actually be able to kill himself. He never had the guts to end his own life. The natural instinct to preserve and protect himself always won out in the end. He never had the willpower to overcome it. And what he had just done wasn’t even really a legitimate suicide attempt. It was nothing more than a brief moment where he simply considered suicide.

After scratching at his arm a few times and forming a few shapes, he withdrew his pocket knife and closed it.

Usually his thought process on this was a bit more drawn out.

Usually it would be one random day where things would go bad. He would get into his mind that this would be it. This would be the day he’d finally kill himself. He assured himself that he wouldn’t live after that day, and that everything would be over.

And then those feelings would fade away when he actually tried to do it.

Eventually he stopped having days like that. He realized he’d never actually be able to kill himself. He didn’t have that kind of commitment.

Plus, there was always one thing that would be sure to instantly stop him dead in his tracks. It made it nearly impossible for him to end his life, no matter what the circumstances were.

In his mind, he’d get an image of his gravestone, with the name “Devin Farrow” plastered on it.

He sighed, lifting himself off his chair as he opened the back door and went back inside his house, leaving the dark, empty night sky to thrive alone on the outside.

He left the pocket knife with it.